Children's Book Reviews: Week of 3/30/09

Buttons become pig noses and a kitchen faucet turns into a swan under Damm's inventive hand. This appealing title, in line with Damm's Ask Me, invites readers to imagine what ordinary objects could become, given the addition of some paint, paper or clay. The titular question is cleverly scripted against monochromatic backgrounds in ways that relate to photographs of various items on the facing page (the words are written in flour opposite a slice of bread, and composed of pollen grains across from an orange daisy). The subsequent spreads reveal how Damm re-envisions each object: following a photo of a piece of Swiss cheese, a page flip reveals a cow created entirely from cheese, with the holes becoming spots. Three wooden spoons turn into a family of chickens with the digital addition of beaks, wattles and combs, and with a bit of clay, a seeded kaiser roll transforms into a turtle. This compact volume will easily prompt children to reconsider everyday objects—and maybe indulge in some arts and crafts. Ages 2–5. (Apr.)

Young Spoon lives a fairly happy life with a large extended family (including a ladle and a very fancy Aunt Silver), but he can't help being a bit jealous of some of his friends. Knife, for example, “is so lucky! He gets to cut, he gets to spread.” Not to mention Chopsticks: “Everyone thinks they're really cool and exotic! No one thinks I'm cool or exotic.” Spoon's mother doesn't try to change his mind, but reacts neutrally. Outside conversations let readers know that Spoon is being envied right back: “Spoon is so lucky!” sigh the Chopsticks. “We could never function apart.” At bedtime, Spoon's mom offers encouragement (“Your friends will never know the joy of diving headfirst into a bowl of ice cream”) then invites him into the big bed—to spoon, of course. The talented Magoon (Mystery Ride!) gives the utensils plenty of personality, with wide eyes and expressive antlike appendages, and Rosenthal's (Little Pea) skillful storytelling moves along briskly. The humorous but earnest message about valuing one's own talents comes through loud and clear. Ages 2–6. (Apr.)

Dad is engrossed in the paper, which of course makes him a ripe target for a silliness offensive by his son. “You know what?” says the boy, with a gleam in his eyes worthy of Bart Simpson. “What?” says unsuspecting parent, as a wide-eyed chicken peers around the corner, conspicuously out of place in their living room. “CHICKEN BUTT!” shouts the son, the words plastered on the airborne fowl's expansive backside. An increasingly hysteric call and response ensues, in which Chicken gives a hyper performance, Dad moves from bemused to exasperated and Perl (Ninety-Three in My Family) manages to rhyme “You know how?” with “chicken eyebrow” and “You know who?” with “chicken tattoo.” Cole (the Katy Duck series), as wryly effervescent as ever, doesn't try to make this story anything more than it is: one of those treasured (by kids at least) moments of parent-child interaction that has no redeeming social value. When he covers a spread with “CHICKEN BUTT!” scrawled a dozen times on top of 18 emotive chickens, it's clear that mania is the message. Ages 3–6. (Apr.)

In the first book that McCue (who has illustrated several Corduroy books) has both written and illustrated, a plush-looking little rabbit who loves the sounds of the forest, discovers, after some fits and starts, that he too has something to offer. McCue's textual cues, which encourage audience participation, are the hook here: “First the cricket, ch-cheet ch-cheet ch-cheet.... And the tiny mosquitoes, nNNnnnnnnnNnnn.” More imitations are encouraged when, over the course of the next day, Quiet Bunny surveys his friends in search of possible signature sounds—none of which he's equipped to make. Only when an owl advises, “Be whoooooo you are,” does Quiet Bunny discover his inner Thumper as he leaps onto a log. McCue employs language and conceits that are mushy and overly familiar—it's only his aural fixation that saves Quiet Bunny from being something of a wuss. But the author's idyllic settings and canny sense of story-time dynamics should make this one a favorite. Ages 4–6. (Apr.)

Covering much of the same ground as Mike Lee's marvelous 1999 biopic Topsy-Turvy (with a G-rated filter, of course), Winter (Barack) and Egielski (The End) present the backstory of The Mikado. The storytelling gets off to a slow start; Winter first lets readers know that “jolly old England was not so jolly” (an early spread includes a Dickensian scene of a workhouse), then gives a somewhat tortured explanation of “topsy-turvy” that will confuse children unfamiliar with the pair's oeuvre (fans, on the other hand, may not appreciate the subtle dissing of The Pirates of Penzance and other works). It's only at midpoint that the narrative gains any momentum, as Gilbert's Japanese-fueled inspiration persuades Sullivan to collaborate on the work that will become their masterpiece. Unfortunately, Egielski's pictures never take flight; while his textured watercolors feel theatrical and he dutifully incorporates the ornate detailing and eccentricities of Victorian life, the images remain flat. Ages 4–8. (Apr.)

It often takes a visitor to point out a city's treasures, and London artist Rubbino does just that in his debut, taking readers on a lively armchair tour of Manhattan sights as seen through the eyes of a day-tripping boy and his dad. First stop: bustling Grand Central Terminal, awash in sunlight that streams through the station's massive windows and onto “so many people—all in a hurry.” The book's large trim size and the illustrator's perspective provide an entertaining and palpable sense of scale as the small boy marvels at skyscrapers and landmarks like the Flatiron Building and the main New York Public Library building. Design highlights include a vertical foldout of the Empire State Building; the subsequent spread offers a downtown view from its 86th-floor observatory. Each busy scene features exuberant narration from the boy (“This department store is called Macy's. Dad says that you can buy anything from a dishrag to a diamond inside”), as well as smaller captions of geographical or historical significance. Neophytes and jaded residents alike will embrace this vibrant and enticing slice of the Big Apple. Ages 4–up. (Apr.)

In this creation story that unfolds over “a thousand million years,” a shapeless “longing” strengthens and becomes “a wind,” and eventually the sky, sea and earth and the creatures and people that inhabit them. In turn, the longing of the people results in the birth of a “golden prince” named Dende Maro, who teaches them the necessities of existence as well as how to create words, numbers and art. Mallam's (The Man and the Fox) illustrations are inspired by 26,000-year-old African rock paintings and range from the initial “longing,” which resembles a single-eyed creature with tentacles, to ethereal, elongated sea animals in rich shades of blue and violet. Despite its ancient inspiration, the artwork can trigger modern associations: an image of mountains, hills and valleys is reminiscent of Salvador Dalí; a depiction of Dende Maro teaching the people to fish, brings to mind pop art, with a silhouetted flock of red and yellow birds. The lack of tangible characters may frustrate some readers, but those with an eye for visual imagery won't be disappointed. Ages 5–up. (Apr.)

An honest narrator grounds this sweet story about two sisters learning to accept their differences—and help each other grow up. The sisters, who live in an exclusive Atlanta neighborhood, both attend “the most prestigious prep school in the South,” but while narrator Carly thrives on being an individual, Anna's pretty face and developing body earn her a different kind of attention. Carly stands up for her softer sister often (telling their mom to stop treating curvy Anna like she is fat, for example). She realizes, though, that she is jealous of Anna's looks even though “I'm her big sister, who should be above such things.” As the sisters get different friends and interests, Carly spends less time with Anna, and they find themselves saying mean things and betraying each other (Anna even hooks up with Carly's crush). The conclusion gets emotionally overwrought with a teary scene in which the sisters turn into “a puddle of ridiculous-ness,” but mostly readers will find both the characters and their problems genuine. Ages 12–up. (May)

Wright's first novel (she's written several works of children's nonfiction), a U.K. import, reads with an unmistakable accent (“Bloody Nora” is a frequent exclamation). This campy story follows Lauren “Lozzie” Cracknell, who is having a spell of bad luck. Her parents have separated, her father just moved into the same building as Tonya Ravonia (the school bully) and her mother may be dating Mr. Barnett, Lozzie's “unreasonablest” teacher. (“Well, isn't that fab! Dad and Mrs. Ravonia are the best of pals and Mum's practically doing-the-do with Mr. B. I may as well kill myself now and save Tonya the bother.”) In the midst of these crises, Lozzie and her best friend Dex discover a blackmail note to Mr. Barnett. As they try to figure out who would want to blackmail him, the story line becomes more convoluted as Lozzie's room is ransacked, items stolen and revelations about Mr. Barnett surface. The plot is far-fetched and certain subjects (e.g., Lozzie's feelings about her parents' separation) are glossed over, but reluctant readers may still enjoy this fast-paced, easy read. Ages 12–up. (Apr.)

In her memorable debut novel, Cantor follows a family so devastated by the disappearance of a daughter that it never fully recovers. One summer morning, Abby, 12, and her parents wake to find Abby's 10-year-old sister Becky missing, with no clues about who took her or why. In the days that follow, all three undergo the scrutiny of their suspicious community and baffled police, and as the months pass, Abby's mother spirals into a detached depression as her father becomes consumed with searching for a daughter he refuses to believe is dead. Abby, ostracized at school, finds a quiet, supportive friendship with Tommy, a neighboring teenager, which develops into a tentative first love. The recurring intrusion of Abby's memories of her sister and her wide range of emotions (ranging from resentment and uselessness to heartache) make the story startlingly real. (“It began to dawn on me that dead was better than missing, vanished, disappeared. At least dead was final.”) Cantor offers no happy ending, but a poignant final scene shows that, despite distance and circumstance, Abby remains connected to her sister. Ages 12–up. (Mar.)

Hagerup's endearingly awkward hero, Markus (from Markus and Diana), is in love “for the fifteenth time since starting junior high. And that was two months ago.” In this outing, smoothly translated from its original Norwegian, he pursues two new romantic interests—Ellen, whose ears look like “mussels with pearls,” and new student Alexandra, a budding actress. Markus's sidekick Sigmund “helps out” by inventing elaborate matchmaking schemes that result in hilarious mishaps and equally funny conversations. (“Do you think I'm a nymphomaniac?” Markus worriedly asks his friend.) Similarly, discussions about love that Markus has with his conscientious father (who has his own ill-fated romantic encounters) provide laugh-aloud moments. (Nervous about confessing his past loves to his father, Markus thinks, “Dad would think he was sick, and he was, too. Sick with love. Crazed! Insatiable! Desperate! Ravenous!”) None of Markus's love fantasies come true, but he does find a new friend in Ellen and has fun playing the role of Romeo in an abridged production of Romeo and Juliet. A breezy romp of a sequel. Ages 14–17. (Apr.)

The first young adult novel from Edgar-winner Klavan, which kicks off the Homelanders series, offers fast-paced action sequences, but disappoints with a weak plot. Charlie West is a good student, a black belt at karate and has finally asked out his dream girl. One night, he goes to sleep and wakes up to find himself one year in the future at a secret compound, with no memory of what's happened to him. He manages to escape, and as he evades his former captors. he discovers that he's also a fugitive from the law and has somehow been drawn into an Islamist terrorist conspiracy. Details of the last day Charlie remembers are slowly filled in over the course of his escape, but the most intriguing parts of the novel are the present-day action sequences; although Charlie often gets lucky, he's also very capable of recognizing that luck and taking advantage of opportunities when they arise. Unfortunately, he's never really given any room to grow in his personal beliefs or character, with his certainty that he's always correct consistently getting reinforced throughout. Ages 14–up. (Apr.)

If ever a YA novel were primed for late-night Cinemax adaptation, it's Malkin's (The Uncensored Confessions) latest. Protagonist Dice (who has visions) moves to Swoon, Conn., and, one day, while swinging on a tree, her cousin Pen awakens a restless, vengeful spirit, Sinclair Youngblood Powers. He initially inhabits Pen's body, but eventually gains a body of his own after Dice turns him into a gorgeous, living, breathing golem named Sin. Pre-golem, Sin turns Pen into the horny center of Swoon, and as a golem, Sin continues to wreak sexual havoc on the town—including deflowering Pen, a “Homecoming Orgy” (where a sexual assault occurs and is then mocked) and a spanking scene. While Malkin's prose has a jarring (yet pleasing) lilt to it—her chapters begin with short, vivid statements and Dice offers pithy observations about whatever is happening at the moment—her style is not enough to salvage what comes across as more a series of orgasms and innuendo than an actual story. This book makes Gossip Girl look like Sweet Valley High without the fun and irony. Ages 16–up. (May)

In this first installment of the Joey Fly, Private Eye series, Reynolds (Buffalo Wings) and Numberman, who makes a wowser of a debut, marry the film noir spoof to the graphic novel, and the result has the sweet smell of success written all over it. The mystery takes readers to the big insect city, where most of the inhabitants are “normal everyday bugs just trying to put three feet in front of the others.” But there are always a few rotten arthropods in the barrel, and keeping them in line is Joey Fly, a detective with a fedora, a sense of justice masquerading as cynicism, a flair for similes and really, really big eyes. Joey, clearly an adult, is given a sidekick, an impetuous but eager scorpion named Sammy Stingtail. The crime does get solved—it involves a stolen diamond pencil box—but like the best noirs, the particulars take a backseat to the irresistible interplay of moody visuals (Numberman wryly replicates the chiaroscuro mis-en-scène of Depression-era cinema) and hard-boiled patois (“The facts were starting to line up like centipedes at a shoe sale”). Ages 8–up. (Apr.)

There's nothing quite like a familiar face, and there are plenty of them to go around in this spring's crop of picture books.

The sporty penguin of Sergio Makes a Splash is obsessed with soccer, but he's only “a true star” in his dreams. In real life, he “trips, falls, crashes, slips, slides, flips, sets, shoots ... and scores! For the other team.” But Sergio is determined to play and jumps at the chance to “try being the goalie!” The bold, graphic four-color spreads evoke vintage sports posters, and Sergio finally gets to shine during the championship game against a team of overconfident seagulls. Sergio and this smart sequel both deliver. Ages 3–6. (May)

Actress Moore's exuberant heroine with strawberry-red freckles and hair is back in this second outing. A bright palette and a classic cartoon feel should prove eye-catching, as Freckleface navigates the world of playground activities: “She plays four square and jump rope—good. She plays tetherball—okay.” Conjuring her inner purple monster helps her to overcome her fear of the dreaded dodgeball and make friends with a bully. Those with dodgeball-related trauma may relate, though the bully is none too scary, and Freckleface gets over her fear pretty easily. Ages 3–8. (May)

The third book in Piven's dynamic series stars cats concocted from found materials like computer mice (they form a “brainy” cat's ears) and other mixed media (papier-mâché, faux fur and plastic eyeballs). The felines are celebrated for their symbolic essences: certain cats are made of “legends” (Maine coon cats are rumored to be the offspring of domestic cats and raccoons), while others are made of “showbiz” (“the British Shorthair cat is the actor of the cat world”). The factual gems (“A cat has no collarbone”) are entertaining, and the collages are eclectic and attractive. Ages 3–8. (Mar.)

Little Bear from Me and My Dad! is back, this time with its mother. The prose is simple—“My mom's not afraid/ of the dark or the night./ And I'm brave like her/ when she's holding me tight!”—and the illustrations are fuzzy-soft (mom and baby look more like stuffed animals than actual bears). They “glide” through bubbly blue-green water alongside graceful fish; afterward, “mom dries her fur,” and Little Bear wiggles its bottom “just like her,” their features obscured by the mist of the evaporating water. Predictably adorable. Ages 4–8. (Apr.)

Confronting his phobias one step at a time, Scaredy Squirrel, in his fourth adventure, “never sleeps” because he is so worried that he might have bad dreams about any number of creatures, which include dragons, fairies, ghosts, unicorns, vampire bats and “polka-dot monsters.” Suffering from sleep deprivation, Scaredy decides it's time to confront his fears. Though armed with an arsenal of supplies, among them “cupcakes” and “safety cones,” his “Bad Dream Action Plan” has unexpected results. Scaredy, with his oversized head and wide set of pearly whites, continues to radiate personality. Ages 4–8. (Apr.)

From the creators of How to Be a Baby... by Me, the Big Sister, comes a rambunctious and entertaining “guide” to getting married, narrated by an overzealous little bride. There are a few rules—“you can marry anyone you like! (Except they need to like you back)”—and traditions (“Now you throw a big bunch of flowers at people's heads”), but this bride's idea of marriage is all about pretend: when it comes time to say “I do,” she's wearing a paper crown and the groom, a feathery, blue wig. With just a wisp of practical advice, this is a stylish and witty companion book. Ages 4–8. (Apr.)

A loud “Arooga Boom Clang Clang,” awakens Chico Bon Bon (from Monkey with a Tool Belt) “early one morning.” Armed with his vast number of tools, he seeks the root of the noise. A cross-section of the mansion-size tree house shows the enormity of Chico's task, and the source of the problem is certain to provoke laughs. Tiny ink detailing (every room of the house is distinctively patterned) lends a miniaturist charm, and the humor in Chico's industrious solution (delineated into step-by-step panels) warrants repeat readings. Ages 4–8. (Apr.)

Llama Llama starts school in the third of Dewdney's gentle series. When Mama Llama waves goodbye to Llama Llama, he starts to feel sad. Despite Llama Llama's trepidations, bright colors and bold patterns make the school welcoming: the teacher is a hip zebra wearing pink and purple, and the other children (cat, goat, sheep and giraffe, among others) enthusiastically make art and play together. Slowly, Llama Llama comes around and decides that “he loves Mama... and school too!” The expressive animal faces and attention to detail make it a charming addition. Ages 4–8. (Mar.)